


Ficlets from Tumblr

by YanderexBabydoll



Category: Haikyuu!!, 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia
Genre: Abuse, Dark, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Murder, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Kidnapping, Multi, Murder, Obsessive Behavior, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stalking, Yandere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 21,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24606349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YanderexBabydoll/pseuds/YanderexBabydoll
Summary: Shorter fics and headcanons from my tumblr
Relationships: Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Reader, Chisaki Kai | Overhaul/Reader, Hinata Shouyou/Reader, Kageyama Tobio/Reader, Kuroo Tetsurou/Reader, Midoriya Izuku/Reader, Miya Atsumu/Reader, Nishinoya Yuu/Reader, Oikawa Tooru/Reader, Sugawara Koushi/Reader, Takami Keigo | Hawks/Reader, Todoroki Enji | Endeavor/Reader, Todoroki Shouto/Reader
Comments: 109
Kudos: 685





	1. Wrong - Izuku x Reader

**Author's Note:**

> Tags, warnings and pairings will be updated as I go along. If you ever want to request something, or just to stop by and say hi you can find me on tumblr under the same name - yanderexbabydoll.tumblr.com :)

There’s something wrong with Izuku Midoriya.

It’s his eyes, you’ve come to realise. He’s always grinning widely, his straight white teeth gleaming like he’s in a toothpaste commercial as he just _beams_ , but it never reaches his eyes. When they glint, it’s not with happiness or joy, but something far less virtuous and pure. It’s cold and malicious, and it still makes a shiver run down your spine.

He hides it well. Pretending to be perfectly normal would be a stretch even for him, so he settles for being a little… eccentric. People don’t notice that there’s something just a little off about him when he’s bouncing around with boundless enthusiasm or hiding away in the corner of a room, shrinking in on himself as if he’s trying to disappear entirely. 

There’s never an in between with Izuku.

You… you’d fallen for it at first too. He was sweet and kind, and he was just always kind of _there_ , a step behind you wherever you go. It takes you a while to realise that he doesn’t cling quite so close to any of the other girls in your friend group like he does with you, but even then you don’t really see the monster lurking beneath the skin.

No, you don’t see the manic glint in those pretty green eyes of his until you’re waking up in a room you don’t recognize, dressed in a lace nightgown that’s definitely not yours, Izuku looming over you with that creepy fucking grin. 

His eyes remind you of a shark sometimes, cold and predatory. They’re not entirely dead and lifeless, though - not when he looks at you. It’s worse, you think, watching the way that they light up and sparkle whenever he sets his sights on you.

He tells you that you’re the only thing that matters to him, the only brightness in his life. He tells you he loves you, that he’ll always love you more than anything else in the entire _world_ , but it doesn’t fill you with warmth or happiness, not when there’s a chain wrapped around your ankle keeping you tethered to his bed.

Izuku’s sweet, except that sweetness turns a little bitter when he smothers your cries in kisses and cuddles you even when you try to shove him away. He’s always so gentle when he takes you - until his hands leave bruises on your hips and you can’t look in the mirror without seeing some trace of him left behind on your body.

You used to hate seeing Kacchan mercilessly bully him, but now you wonder whether he saw it too - the inherent _wrongness_ within him that even Izuku can’t completely hide away. 

You hate him.

You hate him with every fibre of your being, you hate him so much it’s sometimes difficult to _breathe_ when you’re around him (and he’s never all that far away), but you play nice. Never willing, but you don’t test him, you never push him too far, not because you’re meek or because you’re scared, but because you’re biding your time. 

There’s something wrong with Izuku’s smile, but it’s nothing compared to the furious look that blazes in his eyes when he realises that you’re not where you’re supposed to be.


	2. Lucky - Kageyama x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re the only person I’d make an exception for. Count yourself lucky.”

You know better than most what happens when somebody breaks the rules. 

It was never a spectacle that you particularly enjoyed, but you came to realise fairly quickly that your feelings on the matter weren’t all that important. Kageyama was there, and where Kageyama went, so too did you. They were never cruel, he’d told you once, simply fair. An eye for an eye - the punishment met the crime. You’re not quite sure whether he honestly believes it or if it’s just another lie he tries to placate you with. Hacking off a man’s hand simply for making the mistake of touching you without his permission hardly seemed like a fitting _punishment_ , but one look at the quiet fury burning in Kageyama’s eyes and any protests you might have had die in your throat. 

And you knew, you _knew_ , that there was no greater slight in his eyes than betrayal. Absolute loyalty was paramount - loyalty to the family, and loyalty to him above all else. He wouldn’t tolerate anything less, especially not from you.

But it hadn’t stopped you, not when the prospect of freedom was dangling so tantalisingly close in front of you that you could almost _taste_ it. 

It was a mistake to think that Tobio would ever be so careless with you. You can’t remember much, only the feel of your lungs burning as you raced through the streets, the arm that swept out to catch you, knocking the air of your lungs and the butt of a gun connecting with your skull and then-

Nothing.

Until you wake up - not in a filthy cell or bound to a chair in the basement surrounded by Kageyama and his closest associates and underlings - but in his bed, the one he forces you to share with him. You’re not alone either. You don’t even need to look up to know that he’s there, watching, silently fuming in the corner - his anger’s palpable, you can practically _feel_ the fury that’s rolling off of him in waves, poisoning the very air around you.

“Welcome back.” His voice is cold and biting, but you don’t flinch. You don’t even move - it’s safer not to. You have no idea why he’s brought you back here instead of exacting your punishment in front of the others, but you’re not an idiot. Provoking him won’t do you any good now, but you’re not going to grovel either. 

Instead you keep your eyes fixed on the marble floor, waiting for him to continue. Somehow you’d almost rather he’d make a spectacle of it - at least then you’d know what to expect. 

Kageyama’s always been difficult to read. He wears his anger and displeasure proudly but everything else is hidden away under that careful mask. Nobody but you ever saw that mask slip, saw the pain and the sadness or the tender affection and quiet contentment reserved for you alone. Your breath hitches in your throat as he stands and walks towards the bed, each step echoing loudly through the room.

“You cannot leave me.”

He says it not like an order, but simply a fact.

“You _will_ _not_ leave me.”

His voice is like ice, but his hands are surprisingly gentle as he cups your face and tilts your chin up to meet his burning gaze. He’s still wearing his suit from the night before, though his jacket’s nowhere to be seen and his shirt is unbuttoned with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows. You can’t help but stare at the tattoos that colour his pale skin, the inked koi fish, dragons and peonies that he wears like a badge of honour. You suppose they are - they show the world exactly what kind of monster he is, but they’re still beautiful. You’ve lost hours held captive in his arms as he works, fingers gently tracing the waves and the scales, mapping the intricate patterns for lack of anything better to do. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, lifting your gaze to stare into those stormy blue eyes. You aren’t, not really, and he knows that better than anyone.

But it doesn’t matter, does it? Not when he holds your life so tightly in his hands. 

He huffs, shaking his head, “If anyone else had betrayed me as you have tonight, my love,” the term of endearment is harsh and venomous, yet the lingering kiss he presses against your cheek is anything but, “I’d have you begging for mercy as I broke you apart in front of everybody _piece by piece_.”

You shudder and he gives you a cruel smile, “That’s the punishment for disobeying your _Oyabun_ , I thought I’d made that clear to you?” 

He had, time and time again. You knew that, and you ran anyway… some part of you accepted that even if you couldn’t evade him, death, however painful or drawn out, would still be an escape.

A last resort.

Kageyama sighs, carding his fingers through your tangled hair. “I hope you understand that the ones who helped you tonight - their blood is on your hands. The guards who you slipped by, the servants who foolishly left the window unlocked, all dead.”

Your blood runs cold.

“If you were anybody else…” he trails off with a contemplative hum. You don’t need to imagine the horrors he’d gladly inflict, you’d seen it first hand far too many times to count.

“T-Tobio, please.”

His feral grin widens, his hand tightening around your hair until you gasp “But you’re not anybody else, you’re _mine_. You’re the only person I’d make an exception for. Count yourself lucky,” he growls. 

You find yourself nodding along desperately, tears spilling down your rosy cheeks in silent sobs. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you whimper pathetically.

The silence in the room is almost deafening as Kageyama reaches with his spare hand for his belt buckle, “So why don’t you show me how sorry you are, hm?”


	3. One More Time - Hinata x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hinata's tried to be nice to you, but even he has his limits

God you’re so pretty, do you know that?

He tells you often enough, showers you with as much love and affection and praise as he can muster, but you never seem to listen to him. No matter how kind or sweet he is, all you ever do is turn up your nose at him and snap some biting retort or insult.

Sometimes you just flat out ignore him, and he hates that most of all. Can’t you understand that all he wants is your love? Your happiness? You’re the single most important thing in Hinata’s life - well, you and volleyball - but you always treat him like garbage! 

It’s okay, though. 

You… you just need time to adjust. He’s taken you from everything you’ve known, your friends and family, the job that demanded too much of your time, that stupid boyfriend of yours, he just needs to have a little patience. You’ll come around eventually and then everything will be perfect!

Patience has never been his strong suit, but for you he’s willing to try! No matter how many times you yell at him or say such hurtful things, he’s never anything but sweet and loving in return. It’ll be worth it when you settle down, and he can distract himself with his fantasies of how great your lives together are gonna be until then.

He loves you, he loves you so much it almost _hurts,_ but you act like it means nothing. You scoff when he offers to let you watch your favourite movie together, sneer whenever he cuddles up around you after a long day of training and outright mock and belittle him at every opportunity you get. You don’t even appreciate the new wardrobe he’s gotten for you - it’s all sheer, lacy and soft, but you just scowl and snap at him whenever he asks for you to try it on. It’s not that it doesn’t bother him, but he remembers how you used to be, sweet and kind with the prettiest smile and laugh. This you isn’t really _you_ , it’s just an act. 

He’d do _anything_ for you, but you don’t seem to care about that, do you? You’re acting like an ungrateful, mean, whining little brat right now, but he loves you anyway.

Unfortunately for you, it turns out that Hinata does have his limits. 

You’ve been pouty all day, so he does the only thing he can think of to bring your pretty smile back, he brings home some of your favourite pastries from the bakery you used to love just down the road from your old place. He’s expecting your eyes to light up, for you to throw your arms around him and shower him in kisses because he _remembered_. He might not have a lot of experience in the love department, but he knows how to be a good boyfriend!

Except your eyes don’t light up. 

You’re sitting propped up against the headboard on his bed re-reading one of your favourite novels when he gets home, and you barely even glance up when he calls from the doorway. 

“Baaaabby,” he sings as he all but jumps onto the mattress beside you, sliding an arm around your shoulder that you promptly shrug off. “I missed you!”

Your face scrunches up as he presses a kiss against your cheek, but you don’t even look up from your book. His smile doesn't waver, but his eyes narrow just a fraction - for one shining, dark moment, he has the strong urge to rip the book right out of your hands and tear it into pieces before your eyes. He’d only brought it over because he knew how much you loved it and he wanted you to be happy and comfortable in your new home, but he’s the one you should be paying attention to right now. 

But he calms himself, tugging you closer. He’ll have all of your attention soon enough. Excitement bubbles in his stomach, he’s almost vibrating with barely suppressed glee. You’re gonna love his surprise so much! “C’mere, let me show you.” 

He effortlessly yanks the book from your hands, tossing it carelessly to the ground. Finally, you look up at him, a petulant scowl on your face, but he doesn’t let it affect him. “You were looking a little sad today, so I thought I’d get you something to cheer you up!”

Without giving you a chance to reply he shoves the box into your lap. His eyes are wide and fixed on your face, searching for the reaction he so desperately wants to see, but you’re just…

You’re just staring mutely at the box. 

You haven’t even opened it, but surely you recognise the logo emblazoned on the outside. You swallow, and Hinata swears that he sees your eyes shine with tears, but that can’t be right… you, you loved that bakery! Why would it make you sad? “Do… do you like it?” He prompts when the silence starts to get a little oppressive. 

Like a switch flipped, your face darkens and you glare at him. With your eyes locked on his, you pick up the box of cakes he’d so carefully picked out for you and throw it across the room like it’s nothing but _trash_. “I don’t want you or your stupid gifts, just leave me alone you creepy little shit,” you sneer.

Something inside Hinata just _snaps_.

It’s easy when you look at him to forget just how quick Hinata can be. One second you're sitting on the bed beside him, the next he has you face down on the mattress, gripping your arms in a painful twist behind your back.

“Why do you have to be so rude all the time?!” he hisses in your ear as you whimper and trash beneath him. “I’ve tried to be nice, I’ve tried making you happy, but you just can’t stop being a coldhearted _bitch_ for five minutes, can you?!”

There’s an edge to his voice that makes you shiver beneath him. Maybe, just maybe, you’re finally gonna stop-

“I’ll stop being a bitch,” you growl into the pillow, bucking your hips to try and displace him, “when you’re rotting away behind bars, asshole!”

His arm moves before his brain can catch up, a loud smack echoing out into the room. Hinata’s glad that the only thing you’re wearing is one of his shirts - currently riding up at your stomach - and some sheer underwear he’d picked out for you, because it means he gets the perfect view of the bright red handprint blossoming on your ass. 

You scream, writhing beneath him so _wonderfully_ but Hinata’s just staring at his palm. It’s just like the first time he spiked a volleyball properly, his hand is pink and tingling from the force of the hit, and there’s that familiar sting that makes him feel giddy inside. It’s like a mini victory, that rush of pure joy that floods his body, and he can’t help but grin as he exhales shakily. His eyes slowly drift from his hand to your ass before finally meeting your gaze.

Oh, you’ve always been pretty, baby, but with your eyes wide and glossy with tears, your cheeks red and the unmistakable look of _fear_ written across your face, you might just be the prettiest thing in the whole wide world.

You’ll cry and let him cuddle up and comfort you afterwards, you’ll be sweet and loving, letting him drown you in as many kisses and soft caresses as he can while he murmurs apologies he doesn’t really mean - he’s sure of it.

He rubs the angry, raised skin gently, tenderly, hushing you when you start to sob.

But for now…

Hinata’s grin widens. “One more time.”


	4. Honeymoon - Enji x Fem Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enji decides it's time for the two of you to get married

This… this has to be a mistake.

“I-I’m sorry?” Your voice is little more than a squeak.

Endeavor just smiles, though it’s tempered with a faint flicker of irritation and you get a sinking feeling that you’ve just said the wrong thing. He strides over, each heavy footfall echoing loudly in the otherwise silent room and settles himself on the mattress beside you. You fight not to flinch away from him, refusing to show any ounce of fear in front of the Hero, but it hardly matters - with your arms spread and wrists tied to each end of the headboard there’s only so far you can go anyway.

You gulp as those cool blue eyes study you intently, _every inch of you_. 

You’ve never felt more vulnerable in your life. He’s huge, you’ve always known that, but you hadn’t quite realized just how imposing he really is until he’s sitting right beside you in a room that suddenly feels much too claustrophobic. His muscles bulge out his suit, power rippling with every subtle movement. He looks like he could snap you like a twig, and that’s not even taking into account his quirk. And he’s sweltering hot, even without the flames that usually wreathe him, you can feel the heat pouring off of his skin in waves. It might be nice if you were someplace cold, but here it only serves to make you flushed and infinitely more nervous.

It hasn’t helped matters that you’re tied to a bed in a room you don’t recognize, or that your clothes are gone and in their place is some pretty white babydoll you’ve never seen before - one that leaves very, very little to the imagination.

And there must be some reasonable explanation to all of this, because there’s no way in hell that the number one Pro Hero just said what you thought he did.

Enji must be able to read the fear in your eyes that you’re desperately trying to quash because he sighs, reaching one huge hand up to your face. You can’t fight your instincts, squeezing your eyes shut and tensing like you’re preparing for a vicious blow, but he only uses the back of his knuckles to brush against your cheek. It’s a surprisingly gentle touch from the behemoth of a man, but he shouldn’t be touching you at all - all of this is so fucking wrong.

But there has to be… there has to be some misunderstanding, because-

His fingers trail down your jaw slowly, so you’re entirely unprepared when his thumb suddenly swipes across your bottom lip and shoves inside your mouth, the rest of his fingers quickly gripping your jaw.

You squeak, eyes flying open to find Enji frowning, but you don’t dare bite down on the digit. Instead you just freeze, staring up at him with your mouth hanging open like one of those clown games at carnivals. 

“Hmm, that’s better. I don’t like it when you hide away from me,” he says evenly, but there’s an edge of steel in his tone that cuts right through you. He might be a Hero, but you know full well that he’s a particularly short tempered and volatile one at that. You really, really don’t want to see his Quirk up close and personal. Mindful of his thumb still in your mouth and the harsh grip he has on your jaw, you give a tiny nod. Enji’s lips curl just a fraction, and you feel more than hear the pleased hum the Hero makes as he regards your frightened obedience. “Now, tell me what part confused you, little one?”

All of it. Every insane, ridiculous word he’s spoken since you woke up in this strange room with no memory of how you’d gotten there.

You don’t say that. Instead, you wait for him to withdraw his finger from your mouth, swallowing harshly and summoning as much inner strength as you can to speak in a deathly quiet whisper, “Y-you want to m-marry me?”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “No.”

Your muscles relax.

“We are already married. This,” he says, his other hand coming to rest on the soft, delicate skin of your thigh. Tears well in your eyes as that hand begins to rise, heat rippling across your inner thigh as he pushes up the lacy hem of your babydoll. You all but choke when his fingers - thick, long and almost _scorching_ \- cup your panty covered sex. “This is our honeymoon.”


	5. Safe - Sugawara x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Suga just wants you to be safe

“You just can’t seem to help yourself, can you?” he sighs, shaking his head.

Your cheeks burn, whether from shame or anger or a potent, volatile mixture of both you don’t really know anymore. It’s such a small, stupid thing - a cut, a few drops of blood and a ruined batch of cookie dough - hardly the end of the world.

But Suga’s looking up at you from his knees, holding your injured hand in his hand and fretting like you’ve managed to cut off a finger despite the fact that it stopped bleeding well over ten minutes ago.

“I’m fine,” you grit out, trying in vain to pry your arm back. _Leave me alone._

Beneath long, dark lashes, Suga’s eyes narrow just a fraction, the corners of his lips tugging downwards. He sighs again, pulling your now bandaged hand up to his lips and kissing the back of your palm so tenderly, as if he’s afraid you might shatter under his touch.

Not that it’s ever stopped him before. 

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself, hm?” he asks with a pout, letting you finally pull your hand back as he rises to stand. You barely have time to draw in a breath before he’s swallowed you in his arms once again, tucking your head under his chin and slowly stroking your back in a mockery of comfort. “I told you that the kitchen’s too dangerous for you, kitten. You know it’s not safe in there.”

Safe. 

The word leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. 

He’s always been like this, right from the very first day you met him. Back then it had been sweet, endearing almost. It was a running joke between you and your friends - mother hen Sugawara, your first and most ardent protector.

You don’t feel like laughing now. 

Nothing is _safe_ anymore, not the kitchen with its knives and risk of burns, nor the garage with the ancient steps and spiders. You can’t use the damn microwave, much less actually bake something, you can’t run or dance by yourself and you definitely can’t be trusted to dress yourself or shower alone. Going outside was absolutely forbidden, unless you’d been a particularly good girl for him. It was hard to enjoy even that, what with his stifling presence looming over you like a shadow.

One by one your freedoms were stripped away from you, and each time Suga would hug you tight and whisper that it was only because he loved you and just couldn’t bear the thought of you getting hurt. 

It’s suffocating on a good day.

He kisses the crown of your head and you can hear the steady thumping of his heart as he cradles you to his chest. “Why were you even trying to mess around in there in the first place? It’s like you’re trying to give me a heart attack.”

It’s hard not to feel like a petulant child when he uses that tone, it makes you shake, your hands curling into fists at your side. 

He was supposed to be at training for another few hours, you’d been so desperate just to do something familiar, something you loved from before Koushi stole you away from the world and tried to wrap you up in cotton wool. You would have managed just fine too, you weren’t an idiot, you knew how to safely handle a knife (even the blunt butter knives you’d had to make do with) but he’d come home early and scared the hell out of you. The blade had slipped from the chocolate you were chopping up and nicked your finger.

It was his stupid fault in the first place!

“Sometimes I don’t know why I leave you alone at all,” he murmurs quietly, oblivious to the anger and frustration rising like mercury in your veins. “You’re just so helpless and fragile, y’know? I really worry about you.”

It’s too much - the heat of him wrapped around you, his scent, citrus and pepper and something fresh, cloying, toxic and inescapable, the lingering touches and the patronising tone. How dare he act like you were some kind of defenceless little doll that constantly needed his help?! You just wanted some fucking peace and autonomy, and he has to go and ruin it like he’s ruined everything else.

You want to scream, to kick and fight and yell and run, but by the time the sound escapes your throat it’s nothing but a harsh sob accompanied by a wave of tears that spill down your cheeks. In an instant, you get your wish - Suga lets you go, but only for a second.

And then he’s leaning over you again again, long, calloused fingers brushing the tears gently from your cheeks as he coos and frets. 

“Shh, sweetheart. Please don’t cry, you know I can’t stand to see you upset,” he murmurs.

You glare up at him through watery eyes, trembling in his grip. “I hate you, I hate you so much.”

The words are barely more than a whisper, but in the deadly quiet of the living room you might as well have screamed them.

It shouldn’t come as a surprise by now that he ignores them regardless. He’s always been remarkably good at that. His fingers glide across your tear streaked cheeks until he’s cupping your face in both hands. Hazel eyes study you intently for a moment and he hums thoughtfully, a small smile gracing his face. “You’re just a bit tired, aren’t you, baby?” 

His lips are on yours before you can even think to move, and when he pulls away there’s a wicked gleam in his eyes that makes you want to flee and hide. “Why don’t we head to bed a little early tonight, hm?”


	6. Stranger - Nishinoya x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day they stole you was the day Nishinoya's heart shattered. He vows to get you back.

The weight of cold steel in your palm is a comfort. Your grip is strong, steady - it doesn’t betray the way that your heart is racing, the dizzying feeling of air being squeezed from your lungs.

He looks almost exactly the same. Handsome, older of course, and there’s a scar cut across his left eyebrow that wasn’t there when you last saw him, but still the same Nishinoya that you remember - even if those fox like eyes are currently glaring daggers at you.

You swallow uneasily, darting your gaze from his face to your Lady’s - white as a sheet, biting her lip hard enough to draw blood - and the pale, glinting blade pressed against her throat. The other guard is already dead, too slow on his feet to dodge Nishi’s knife. His blood, crimson and cooling, pools on the ground between you two, but neither of you pay it any mind. You have more important things to worry about than the fate of your unfortunate companion.

“Let her go, Noya. If it’s money you want, the jewels and the horses, take them. I won’t stop you, but you harm her…” you let the threat hang in the air between you, shifting your stance ever so slightly to mirror his. 

His knife, like your sword, doesn’t waver. 

“No hello, then?” he asks with a grin - a cold, harsh mockery of the smiles he used to favour you with. “After everything I’ve done to get your attention, too. I’m hurt.”

Your heart skips a beat. For six months, the rumours had swelled through the underbelly of the court; a rogue bandit cutting a bloody swath through the kingdom, burning and pillaging as he went. Bandits were always a problem in the kingdom, but for one to gain a reputation like this, to strike out so violently and indiscriminately… and then came the stories from sole survivors.

It wasn’t like Noya had ever been a saint, you both had blood on your hands, but this was something else entirely. This wasn’t a quick kill for a bit of coin.

And for _months_ , you’d had a sick feeling in your stomach, because it couldn’t have been him. It just couldn’t. Even if the descriptions matched him to a tee, even if you’d seen his handiwork first hand - your Noya wasn’t a monster.

Standing there, staring into those familiar brown eyes, you wonder how much of _your_ Noya is even left… how much has changed since the two of you were ripped apart.

You swallow, licking your lips. Your mouth is dry, your heart pounding so loudly against your chest it’s a wonder they both can’t hear it. It’s not fear that races through your veins, but a cacophony of conflicting emotions you can’t even begin to untangle. 

How is it possible to look at the face of a man you’ve loved since you were a child and see a stranger staring back at you? How can you want to run to him and stab him at the same time?

“You have my attention. Now let my Lady go,” you say slowly. 

Nishinoya scoffs, turning his head just a fraction to appraise his captive. “Your _Lady_?” his voice is deadly quiet, sharp and edged with fury. 

The Princess trembles in his arms as his smile widens, and you silently will her to keep a calm head and stay still. With his knife pressed so tightly against her throat, one wrong move and there won’t be anything you’ll be able to do to save her.

“When the fuck did these rich, royal _cunts_ gain your loyalty, huh? How long did it take for you to turn your back on everything, on _us_ , and play toy soldier to the people who stole you away from me?” he snarls, and with the slightest flick of his wrist he cuts a thin red line across her throat. 

She wails in his arms, big, fat tears rolling down her face and your heart constricts once more. You wish that his words didn’t strike a chord, and you wish, more than anything, that there wasn’t some nugget of truth to them.

But it wasn’t like you’d chosen that path yourself. 

There’s more than a touch of bitterness in the way you glare at him. “I waited, Nishi, and you didn’t _come_. What was I supposed to do?”

Hold out hope forever? Did he realise that they gave you a choice the day they took you; hang for your crimes or work for your penance.

You chose to live, because you were waiting for _him_.

And he never came.

Nishinoya’s jaw tightens as fire blazes in his eyes, and for the first time, you see the tremor in his hand. He opened his mouth to spit something back, but he’s cut off by another wail from the struggling Princess in his arms. 

“P-please,” she sobs, and for a moment you’re not sure whether she’s begging for you to save her or for the bandit to let her go, but then those wide, pretty eyes settle on you and you feel the weight of it like a gut punch. In that single, terrified glance, you realise that she understands this isn’t about the pretty jewels hanging off her throat. “Please, Y/N-”

The very moment your name slips past her lips, Noya snarls like a wounded animal and jerks his elbow back.

In a split second, slowed down to a horrifying crawl, a fountain of blood sprays over you, splattering against your amour.

He tosses her body to the ground like she’s _nothing_ , barely an afterthought, but all you can do is stare. There’s a pounding in your head and you can hear a shattered scream echoing out - it takes you a second to realise that it’s coming from you.

She’s dead.

She… she’s dead.

Your eyes flicker from her body to Noya. His breathing is ragged, his shoulders heaving with the force of each exhale, but it’s the look in his eyes - the savage, bloodthirsty glee that gleams in the aftermath of his kill - that snaps something inside of you.

Too late, your instincts kick in. With an almighty howl, you lift your sword and swing, but he’s quicker than you remember.

Stronger, too.

Your sword is tossed aside onto the grass too far out of reach, your arm twisted sharply behind your back, pinning you against him. Vaguely you register his knife teasingly brushing against your waist, but it’s the feel of his warm breath on your neck that makes you shiver.

“Noya-”

He cuts you off with a soft chuckle, “Y’know, I’ve never really had a problem taking what I wanted from others, I don’t mind taking it by _force_ if I have to. I kinda like the killing, gets my heart racing, makes the prize just that much sweeter.” You shut your eyes tightly, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill down your cheeks. His lips brush along the column of your throat, lingering as he breathes in your scent, and you can _feel_ the way that he smiles against your skin. “They _took_ you from me, it’s about damned fuckin’ time I stole you back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed! As always, kudos and comments are appreciated!!


	7. Reckless - Shoto x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Villain Shoto comes back for his childhood love

The attack came out of nowhere.

Heroes are scattered, the students still half asleep trying to figure out whether this is the real thing or just an elaborate drill designed to test them. It’s still so dark out, just a little after midnight and you can barely see a thing with the moonlight obscured by smoke and clouds, but you keep running, racing towards the fire blazing through the trees.

It’s almost certainly a diversion to lure you away from the camp, but what else are you supposed to do? You can’t just let it burn, it’s one wrong gust of wind away from swinging back around to threaten the camp and the students. 

You can’t fathom why they’ve chosen now to attack or what they’re after - unless it’s just pure pandemonium - in which case they’ve succeeded. Somebody yells behind you, but it’s just white noise against the wind that whips against your ears. There’s a flicker of movement to the left of you, another figure speeding in the same direction, you ignore it for the moment, instead tugging off your gloves with your teeth to activate your Quirk. 

It’s dangerous, risky and stupid, if you’re not paying attention you’re half as likely to set the entire forest ablaze, but the other’s are protecting the kids, searching out the Villains responsible - stopping this fire is on you. 

“Get back!” you shout as the wind begins to whip around your palm, but your eyes are focused solely on the flames before you.

That’s your first mistake.

You hear the quiet chuckle a moment before the attack launches. There’s barely enough time for you to register it, much less move to counter before you’re hit by a wave of ice. It’s not enough to knock you off your feet, but it wasn’t intended to. Instead the ice wraps around you, freezing you in place from your waist down, trapping your hands by your sides in the process. 

The thick layer of ice bites at your bare skin, and you bite back a grimace as you fruitlessly try and break free. Even with the warmth of the burning forest, it doesn’t take long for the freezing cold to settle into your very bones, sapping your energy and slowing your heart rate. Without your hands you can’t access your Quirk and without your Quirk- you’re all but _useless_.

“You always were so quick to run headfirst into danger without stopping to _think_ ,” the quiet voice calls and amidst the soft crackling of the forest fire, you hear footsteps approaching. “I would have hoped that by now you would have gained some kind of sense of self preservation, but it seems I was wrong. You’re still the same reckless little Hero, aren’t you?”

You continue to writhe in your glacial prison, refusing to acknowledge the approaching Villain. Even if he hadn’t used his Quirk on you, it wasn’t like you’d ever be able to forget that voice, the cool indifference masking the monster underneath.

Shoto Todoroki.

He comes to a stop a few feet away, those heterochromatic eyes sweeping over you trapped form as if to study you. It’s been years since you cut him out of your life, but he still looks the same. Older, naturally, and physically he’s probably a bit bigger too, but even dressed in his Villain get up, his face cold and aloof, you can’t help but see the hints of the boy you were friends with when you look into his eyes.

That boy might as well be dead, you remind yourself as the ice that wraps around you grows an inch higher.

Todoroki seems to be waiting for you to speak, but after several tense beats of silence, he sighs lowly, shaking his head with an expression that just drips with condescending disapproval, “It’s a miracle you’ve managed to last this long without me,” he tuts, and this time you don’t bite back the snarl that leaves your lips.

“Let me go, Todoroki!”

If he’s bothered by your seething tone, he hides it well, cocking his head and raising one lone eyebrow. “Todoroki? A bit formal, don’t you think, my love?” He smiles, looking faintly amused as you struggle, “We were engaged once, and friends before that.” 

Once - a long, long time ago. Back when you were little more than children playing to your parents’ whims with no proper understanding of what a Quirk marriage meant. Back before he split from the path you were both supposed to be on together.

You open your mouth to retort but you’re cut off as a harsh, feminine scream echoes through the night. Your heart constricts, bile rising in your throat - you recognise that voice all too well - Momo!

Wide eyed you whip your head back around in the direction of the camp, but your body is trapped and your hands are numb and you can’t move, can’t do a single thing to help! You have to go back, you have to help them, but the ice is too thick and you can’t-

“No, no, no,” the Villain tuts, stalking forward to grab at your chin and yank your attention back to him. “Don’t worry about them, Y/N. My friends are taking care of your pesky little band of Heroes in training, this is about us.”

“T-there is n-no us!” you spit through chattering teeth. 

He frowns mockingly, “Ah, are you cold, darling?”

You don’t dignify him with a response.

He smirks at your venomous glare, stepping back just enough to let fire ripple down his left side. “I’d be _glad_ to warm you up.”


	8. Adorable - Oikawa x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oikawa has a thing for Iwa's sister

The people who know Oikawa, _really_ know Oikawa, understand that he doesn’t love easily. 

He has his swarm of devoted fans, his teammates and his friends, and on the surface he comes across as friendly, charming, even. He has a way with people, he knows that, abuses it a little, if he’s being honest. Outside of the court, he doesn’t want anybody to think _too_ badly of him. Oikawa wants their praise, their attention, their _love_ , needs it even - but it’s a one way transaction, a temporary boost to satisfy his ego, nothing more.

Beneath the cheery laugh and flattering smiles, Oikawa really doesn’t give a shit about most people, and genuinely cares for even less. 

Hajime has always been the exception, right from the first day of school together. His best friend, the one person he trusted above all else.

And then there was you; his sweet, adorable little sister.

Oh, now weren’t you just the cutest thing? Oikawa can still remember the first time he met you, the way you clung to your brother’s back, peering around him with those wide pretty eyes. You’d blushed and stammered out a bashful hello and Oikawa thinks that that might just have been the moment you stole his heart.

Not that he knew it at the time. Back then, girls still had cooties.

And yet, despite that, you managed to endear yourself to him. 

It didn’t help that you always turned such a delightful shade of pink whenever he teased you. His efforts usually garnered him a rough slap on the back of his head, courtesy of Iwa, but what was he supposed to do? You were just too damn adorable _not_ to play with!

It’s all harmless of course (just because they’re best friends, doesn’t mean Iwa trusts him an inch around his sister, Oikawa _knows_ this) until suddenly it isn’t.

Oikawa isn’t really sure exactly when his feelings began to change. He’s always felt somewhat protective of you. It’s natural, he supposes, after seeing how adorably naive you are, especially around guys. He’s honestly lost count of the number of times he’s had to play your knight in shining armour with Iwa and the others because you’re simply too stupid to realise you’re getting taken advantage of.

And maybe it’s that innocent naivety he wants to protect, if only so he can corrupt it himself. 

It’s partially your fault too, you know. Despite his playful attempts to rile you up, you trust him implicitly, just like you trust all of Hajime’s friends. You don’t think twice about parading yourself around in front of him in a tank top and those skimpy little pyjama shorts that never fail to drive him to near distraction. You don’t notice it, do you, the way his hand grips so tightly at the armrest on the couch when you slot yourself down between the two of them on movie nights at your place that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break.

He hopes like hell that Iwa doesn’t pay attention when he abruptly excuses himself halfway through, _prays_ that the volume on the TV is loud enough to mask the sounds of him fucking his fist with your name on his lips.

You give your affections so easily, it takes nothing more than a petulant pout for you to wrap your arms around his waist and tuck yourself against him just like you do with Hajime. He wonders whether he can tempt a kiss from you, too. 

(He refrains, if only because he knows that while you might be that gullible, Iwa certainly isn’t).

Oikawa doesn’t quite know whether he should be offended by your unwitting refusal to see him as anything other than your big brother’s best friend or not, but he supposes it won’t really matter one way or the other. Whether you expect it - want it - or not, the end result is gonna be the same.

He just has to be patient.

And wouldn’t you know it? The fates see fit just to all but throw you into his lap.

It’s purely by chance that Iwa isn’t home when he swings by one afternoon, but when you answer the door, breathless and sniffling, eyes rimmed in a tell tale red, every thought of his best friend flies right out the window. It takes but a millisecond for him to register the pretty outfit you’re wearing, the delicate, floral scent of your perfume lingering in the air, and it takes an immense amount of practice to keep the predatory smirk from curling across his lips.

And you, sweet, darling, little thing, try and wave away his concerns as he takes you by the waist and leads you back inside, closing the door behind him.

But he’s played his role so well. He’s your big brother’s best friend, you can trust him, you can tell him _anything_ , you know that, right? He cares about you so much, and it’s obvious you’re upset - Hajime would be seriously _pissed_ if he found out he left you all alone in such a state. 

Truthfully, he barely listens to your snivelling confession - something about a supposed date gone wrong, a boy who kissed another girl instead of you. There’s a brief flicker of irritation at seeing you hung up on somebody who’s not him, but Oikawa forces himself to focus on the way you’re all but burrowed against him on the couch, the delightful sensation of your bare skin under his fingertips as he comforts you so tenderly.

Oh, it really is too perfect.

He’s wanted this for months, years maybe, and Oikawa can’t hold himself back any longer. His grip is gentle but unyielding as he coaxes your chin up to look at him. God, you look so beautiful staring up at him with that teary, doe eyed confusion, you barely have a chance to open your mouth and question him before his lips are crashing against yours.

God, you taste like fucking heaven.

He wastes no time easing you into it, it would be just _cruel_ to give you a hope that this experience was going to be in any way gentle. His teeth bite at your bottom lip, his hands tightening with bruising force as he suddenly flips you over onto your back, knocking the air from your lungs.

He’s always thought you were pretty, but somehow even his best fantasies pale in comparison to the sight that awaits him as he rips open your top and hikes up your skirt. You look so cute beneath him, so very fragile and _scared_ that for a moment he forces himself to stop.

A faint hope flickers in your eyes. Even caged beneath him with his achingly hard cock pressing insistently against your thigh, you still so desperately want to believe that this is all some big misunderstanding, that he’s not about to tear you away from your safe, naive, little world and fuck you until you’re a babbling mess.

“T-Tooru? I- why…” your words fail as fresh tears well up and spill down your flushed face, and he can’t deny the trill of pleasure he gets from hearing his name in that breathless whisper of yours. He wants to hear it again, wants to hear you scream it as he pounds into your warm, tight cunt.

He smiles widely, cupping his palm against your wet cheek, “Don’t cry, cutie. You trust me, don’t you?”

It’s not like he’s doing this because he doesn’t love you. 

Doesn’t change the fact he’s still gonna ruin you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update, I hope you guys enjoyed!! Comments and Kudos are always appreciated!


	9. Lessons - Hinata x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe spending a week locked in the freezing basement with nothing but a thin mattress and your own thoughts to keep you company will make you a little less frosty.

It’s not like he enjoys the sound of you crying.

It tears him up inside - all he wants, all he’s _ever_ wanted, is for you to be happy. You just haven’t quite come around to realising that the only way that can happen is with him. 

He _hates_ that he has to do this to you, but you’re being stubborn - you’re the one who’s driven him to this! If you stopped trying acting out every time he tries to do something nice, if you stopped trying to escape-

Well, it doesn’t matter. 

It might break his heart, but Hinata knows this is for your own good. He’ll give you whatever you want, surely you can see that by now - so if you want him out of your life so bad, fine. He’ll give you _exactly_ what you want.

Maybe spending a week locked in the freezing basement with nothing but a thin mattress and your own thoughts to keep you company will make you a little less frosty towards him. 

Of course, he’s not a monster! It’s either this or tying you up, and that’s a little too cruel for his pretty darling. He comes by three times a day with enough food and water to keep you alive, and there’s a bathroom tucked away underneath the stairs, so it’s not like you’re _completely_ being deprived. It’s just enough to make you… soft, he supposes. Sweet. Loving even.

Hinata blushes at the thought.

He’s tried being _close_ with you a few times before. He doesn’t want to rush anything, and he’d never force you or anything like that… but sometimes he just can’t quite help himself. You’re so beautiful and he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t fantasised about it. He has thoughts like any man, and really, it’s the next step in any loving relationship, but you’re just so… stubborn! 

He’ll be so gentle, so good to you! He’s been studying- well, sort of. There are a few things he wants to try out, things he’s sure you’re gonna love - if you’ll just _let_ him.

There’s something holding you back from accepting this - accepting _him_ \- and he’s almost positive that once he shows you how well he can love you, those lingering doubts are gonna fade right away.

But all this fighting back just won’t do! He wants to hold you without you struggling, be able to kiss you when he comes home without you trying to hide away from him. He wants to be loved too, is that so bad?

So when he carries your food down those steps to see you huddled in the corner, shivering and sobbing and ignoring him entirely, he reminds himself of why he’s doing this. One week, and he’ll let you out and you’re gonna run into his arms and everything’ll be _perfect_.

You start begging for him to let you come back upstairs on the fourth day and man, it’s so hard to resist! You just look so pretty down on your knees clutching at his leg with those wide eyes full of tears. He almost - _almost_ \- gives in right then and there. You really do have him wrapped around your finger and you don’t even seem to realise it.

But he wants the lesson to really sink in, and if he gives in too easily it _won’t_. No, as much as it hurts, as much as he wants to take the scraps of desperate affection and neediness you’re throwing his way and run with it, he can’t. One week, that’s the plan. Besides, if this is how clingy you are just over halfway through your time out, imagine how needy you’ll be at the end of it!

Yet he can’t seem to keep the smile off his face as he stacks up your plate onto a tray to carry down to you. He may have ‘forgotten’ to slip down at breakfast, he knows you’re gonna be starving, but he figures those few extra hours are gonna make all the difference! Maybe you’ll actually try and give him a proper hug this time - he almost shivers in anticipation.

He’s been trying not to talk when he takes down your food, but as he nudges the basement door open he can’t seem to stop himself from calling out, “Baby?”

Silence. He frowns - you’re back to being stubborn already? See, this is why he didn’t let you out yesterday. Apparently you haven’t quite learned your lesson yet.

Although… the basement light isn’t on, so maybe you’re just sleeping? 

He takes a step down the staircase, then another, his eyes trying to adjust in the dark to see if you’re curled up on the mattress. “… Sweetheart, you up?”

Another step.

“Y/N?”

A second too late he hears the creaking of the wood. He whips around just in time to see the tray he’d left the night before come flying towards his face.

He’s gotta give you credit - you have one hell of a swing.

The blow is vicious, slamming into his face with a resounding _thwack_. It’s enough to knock him off his feet and send him sprawling down the rest of the stairs. He hits the concrete hard - hard enough to force the air out of his lungs. 

Vaguely, he’s aware of the pain pounding through his body like a jackhammer. His face hurts, his ribs hurt, he’s fairly sure his lip’s bleeding and his knee feels like it’s on fire, but none of that matters, not as he glimpses you jump over him and dart up those steps like the devil itself is at your heels.

Hinata’s been so good with you since he brought you here. He showers you in affection, buys you pretty things, cooks for you - he’s never once hurt you, no matter how difficult you’ve been.

He pushes himself up off the cold floor with a hiss. He can hear you upstairs, the rapid footfalls as you race for the front door. 

It doesn’t matter that it’s not locked, he thinks as he scrambles up the steps after you.

You better hope you can run fast, because Hinata has no intention of letting you slip out of his grasp.

And _when_ he catches you, oh baby, you’re in for a world of pain.

Whatever it takes to make the lesson sink in, right?


	10. Night Terrors - Hawks x Fem Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawks is determined to look after you. He's your husband after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double update for you guys on this lovely Sunday!

You jerk awake with a gasp.

The room is dark - it’s still early, and there’s an unfamiliar weight slung across you waist, a stranger cuddled up behind you-

No. Not a stranger, you remind yourself, but your husband. Hawks - Keigo, as he keeps telling you to call him. 

He stirs as you shove his arm off of you, pushing yourself up into a seated position and curling your arms around your knees. You’re covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your breath ragged as your heart pounds trying to catch up. 

“Baby?” Keigo calls, his voice is heavy with sleep as he sits up and rubs his eyes, running a hand through his messy bedhead. “You okay? Another nightmare?”

You nod, wordlessly staring at the wall on the opposite side of the room as your eyes slowly adjust to the darkness. It’s been like this every night since the accident, nightmares that plague your sleep. It’s the middle of the night and you’re running - driving through the pouring rain and there’s something chasing you, a shadowy figure that keeps getting closer and closer until you’re sure that it’s going to snatch you up and devour you whole-

But then you wake up, gasping for air like you can’t breathe and trembling like a leaf.

The Doctor said it’s a side effect of the crash, that it’s your brain’s subconscious attempt to make sense of what happened. Disconcerting, maybe, but nothing to be worried about. 

It’s not so much the dream itself that scares you, but the feelings it evokes - the terror that sinks its icy claws into you, the blind panic that slithers around your throat and squeezes until you’re _choking_ on it.

You flinch as his hand comes down on your back, rubbing it soothingly as he scooches closer. “Hey, it’s just a dream. You’re okay, you’re safe here with me, you know that right?”

You nod, but it’s more out of habit than because you actually believe it. Hawks watches you with those golden eyes for a long moment before the corners of his lips twitch downwards into a frown and he sighs. Clearly, he’s not buying it. Gently, he lays his head against your shoulder, letting one of his wings wrap around your back and nudge you into his side.

“Talk to me, you know I can’t stand it when you shut me out,” he murmurs quietly.

A flash of guilt stabs at you. It’s not his fault that you can’t remember, that this whole thing feels alien and strange. He’s your husband, he loves you.

You take a deep, shaking breath and force yourself to relax against him. “I- the shadow, the one chasing me in the nightmares, it’s getting clearer every night. I think… I think I can almost see it.”

Hawks tenses, fingers curling around your chin so he can tilt your face to meet his gaze. “Y/N, you know what the Doctor said. Don’t force it. The memories might come back and they might not, but the dreams - they’re just that. We’re working on leads, _actual_ leads. The Villain who did this to you, baby, we’re gonna catch them, I promise.”

A small part of you deflates, but you just nod once again. Keigo’s right. Of course he’s right, but you just can’t help yourself. You feel so inadequate, so useless.

You know it’s not your fault, but still.

Waking up in that hospital bed, your body wrapped in bandages, sensors and needles scattered across your skin with no memory of how you’d come to be there had been terrifying. And Hawks - Keigo - had been by your side the whole time, his hand wrapped snugly around yours. 

He’d tried to hide it, but the hurt, kicked puppy look in his eyes as you’d slowly pulled your hand back and innocently asked what the Pro Hero was doing in your hospital room wasn’t one that you’re going to be able to forget any time soon. 

Physically, you were okay - a few broken bones and some stitches, but that wasn’t the real damage dealt. Two whole years of your life - gone. Including the entirety of your relationship with the crimson winged Pro. A whirlwind romance, he’d called it, a faint blush dusting his cheeks as he told the story of how the two of you met.

“We’re married?” you’d asked him shyly, staring at the pretty rock on your ring finger.

Hawks had smiled, probably the first real smile you’d seen since you’d woken up with half your memories missing. You had to admit, it was a good look for him. “Yeah. Six months now.” He’d given you a cavalier shrug, but his eyes were decidedly soft and affectionate when you glanced up, “When you know, you know I guess.”

You wouldn’t have blamed him if he left afterwards - none of this has been easy on him, especially with the threat of the unnamed Villain hanging over the both of you. Hawks is sure that the attack was an attempt to get at him, which is why he’s kept you at an isolated safe house a little ways out from the city. Nobody comes in or out, it’s just you and him.

But he’s assured you again and again, he’s not going to leave you anytime soon. On the bad days, the ones where you can’t seem to stop the frustrated tears that spill down your cheek, he’ll sweep you up into his arms and hold you until the sobs subside. 

He loves you - so, so much, but somehow that only makes things worse, because you don’t know how you’re supposed to deal with everything that comes with that.

One step at a time, according to Keigo.

It’s easy for him to say, but even though he tries to hide it from you, you know that with every touch you give, Hawks is left wanting _more_. He wants his wife back, and you’re still fighting not to blush when you feel his semi hard cock brush up against your ass when he comes up from behind to kiss you as you clean the dishes after dinner.

“I just,” you break off with a sigh, squeezing your eyes shut in an attempt to banish the nightmare from your thoughts. “I just want things to go back to normal.”

_I want my memories back._

Hawks’ fingers stroke your arm and he hums thoughtfully, “No matter what happens, we’re gonna get through this together. I love you, m’not going anywhere.”

The words should bring some semblance of comfort, but there’s only a faint, lingering sense of unease that teases at your gut - maybe the bad dreams are affecting you more than you thought.

“C’mon baby, let’s go back to sleep. We’ve still got a few more hours before I’ve gotta be up,” he whispers, placing a soft, feather light kiss against your neck.

But you shake your head absentmindedly. There’s no way on earth you can just fall back asleep now, not wired as you are.

Hawks pauses for a long moment before he shrugs and kisses you again, decidedly less chaste this time - and your heart leaps when his tongue suddenly darts out to lap at your skin. “No?” he asks quietly, pulling back so that you can see the hazy lust burning in those golden eyes of his as he smirks. “Well if sleep’s off the table, why don’t I try and find some other way to make my beautiful wife feel better?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it, comments and kudos make my days!


	11. Setting the Mood - Atsumu x Fem Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your boyfriend isn't usually the romantic type.

There are rose petals on your floor. 

A trail of them, actually, leading from the doorway you’re standing in, down the hallway towards your bedroom. The lights are off, which isn’t unusual, but the scented candles flickering softly, dotted throughout your apartment - those are new. Spiced vanilla and honey, it’s one of your favourites.

You swallow, picking your jaw up off the ground, and slowly smile. Honestly, you’ve had such an awful day, all you’ve been thinking about for the last few hours is dragging yourself home, having a long, hot shower and curling up into bed. 

Apparently your boyfriend has other ideas.

It’s a little unexpected, you think as you slide off your shoes and drop your wallet and keys on the counter top, because you could have sworn that he told you he had to stay back late at work today. 

Did he actually plan this? 

Your heart flutters at the thought. Almost two years you’ve been together and despite the rough patches, he still manages to find new ways to surprise you. 

“Babe?” you call out, following the trail of petals and the soft sounds of music playing from your bedroom. 

There’s no response. 

Oh, so that’s how he wants to play it? You bite your lip, thinking about all the wonderful possibilities that are waiting in your bedroom and suddenly all the exhaustion from the day just melts away. 

You shiver in anticipation, excitement coiling in your stomach. A wicked voice in your head whispers for you to start shedding you clothes, but you don’t - if only because you know your boyfriend wants that job all for himself. 

The door’s only just ajar, a tiny sliver of warm orange light shining from the crack.

“Baby?” you coo, propping an arm against the frame with what you hope is a sultry smirk. “What’s with the set up outside, is it my birthday or something?” Gently you push the wooden door open-

Your smile falls.

“Hey gorgeous, ‘bout time ya got home.”

Your boyfriend’s lying on the floor of your bedroom surrounded by rose petals - stripped, beaten and dripping with blood, his arms tied behind his back and duct tape plastered across his lips, but that’s not what captures your attention. No, it’s the familiar blonde figure sitting on the end of your bed watching you with a lazy smirk, toying with the glinting edge of a kitchen knife. 

Your blood runs cold.

No. He can’t be here. He- he…

No.

“A-Atsumu?”

His smirk widens. “I hope you don’t mind that we got started without ya. I wanted to wait, really I did, but _somebody_ got impatient,” he chuckles, jerking his chin at the crumbled heap on the floor.

Tied up and utterly at Atsumu’s mercy, your boyfriend yells. Or he tries to, at least - the sound is muffled by the tape, but your eyes dart down regardless. His eyes are blown wide in mute terror, tears streaming down ruddy cheeks and his shoulders are shaking - with a jolt you realise that he’s trying to sob your name.

You swallow harshly, forcing your gaze back to Atsumu. 

Looking closer, you can see that his knuckles are split and bruised, his hands smeared with your partner’s blood - there’s splatters of it on his white shirt, crimson flecks stark against his unblemished skin. He’s never been one to shy away from blood, or violence at all for that matter. He enjoys it too much.

Bile rises in your throat and every fibre of your being is screaming at you to run-

But you can’t.

You can’t move at all.

You force yourself to take a deep, shuddering breath to try and calm yourself before speaking, “Atsumu, wh-what the hell are you doing here?”

He shrugs, pushing himself to his feet. It’s only through sheer willpower that you don’t skitter backwards as he steps towards you. “What, the roses and candles weren’t enough of a hint for ya? And here I thought you were supposed to be the smart one between us.”

Your boyfriend wails again as Atsumu carelessly steps over him, but neither of you pay him any mind - you can’t not when you’re focused on the knife in Atsumu’s hand. 

“I’m not really one for all this romantic crap, but I figured I’d make an effort, y’know, considering it’s our anniversary ‘n all. I do love you. Gotta treat my girl right, even if she is a flighty little whore.”

You’re shaking like a leaf when he reaches for you. Like a vice his fingers tighten around your wrist and he tugs - you almost stumble and lose your balance from the force of the pull, but he’s quick to steady you in his arms.

He nuzzles into your neck, grinning as you shiver beneath him. “Did ya really think you could hide from me forever, baby?” he whispers. 

Your nails bite into the palm of your hand, but you force yourself to shake your head.

Atsumu laughs, studying you through half lidded eyes, “Coulda’ fooled me - runnin’ halfway across the country to set up house with some other guy. If I didn’t know better, kitten, I’d think you were tryna make me _jealous_.”

The tip of the knife trails teasingly up your spine as he leans down to briefly kiss your trembling lips. 

“I missed ya, ya know. I spent so much time making sure everything was perfect for us… you’re not allowed to ruin it this time,” he murmurs. His dark eyes flicker to your whimpering mess of a boyfriend. “So here’s what’s gonna happen: you’re gonna be the good, obedient little cockwhore that I _know_ you are, we’re all gonna have some fun together and if you’re very, very lucky,” his fingers grab your jaw harshly, forcing you to meet your partner’s terrified gaze, “I won’t slit this bastard’s throat for touchin’ what’s mine. Sound good?”

Biting your bottom lip as tears stream silently down your cheek, you nod.

Atsumu grins. “Yeah, I thought so.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahh, hope you guys enjoyed the double update - kudos and comments are always appreciated!


	12. Harmless - Lev x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don’t you think he’s just a little… I don’t know, creepy?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another double update - I seem to be making a habit of that 👀

“Don’t you think he’s just a little… I don’t know, creepy?” your best friend murmurs in a pointed tone, stirring the sugar into her coffee. 

You bite back a sigh - it’s a conversation you’ve had countless times before and it always ends the same way. You defend Lev, chastise your friend for her paranoia and distrustful nature and eventually she relents with an unconvincing ‘if you say so’. 

“He’s harmless, honestly - Lev wouldn’t hurt a fly and he’s actually very sweet once you get to know him. I don’t know why you’re so against him. He’s a good friend.”

She huffs, taking a slow sip of her drink before she replies. “Well for one, he’s like an overgrown shadow. I swear, every time we’re out together we always seem to just _magically_ run into him, all big and looming, and he’s always staring at you like he wants to gobble you up - _just you_ by the way, he outright ignores the rest of us _peasants_ \- it’s like he’s obsessed with you or something, and-”

She keeps talking, but honestly you kind of zone out a little bit. You can’t judge her too harshly. She’s always been protective of you, ever since you guys were kids, you suppose it’s only natural for her to be wary of Lev.

And she’s not wrong per se. You do have the strangest habit of running into Lev around town, but it’s how you met, after all - quite literally running into the 6’5” giant as you were exiting the exact same coffee shop you were currently sitting in.

Spilling your piping hot coffee all over somebody else’s sweater doesn’t usually have the makings of a burgeoning friendship but Lev had been so sweet about the whole thing, blushing and bowing, shooting apology after apology (despite the fact that it was mostly your fault) that you couldn’t help but offer to buy his drink in compensation for ruining his morning - and more importantly his clothes.

Lev, grinning brightly, had agreed with a single condition - that you joined him. And really, after pouring hot coffee all over him, it was the _least_ you could do.

“Hey, are you even paying attention to me?!”

You jerk a little, shaking yourself out of your reverie to find your friend glaring at you. It lacks any real heat though, and she just rolls her eyes and gives a long suffering sigh. “I’m worried about you, Y/N. Didn’t you say that some of your stuff has been going missing lately?”

An old picture of you and some friends on vacation, a necklace you used to wear religiously and you could swear that you’re missing one of your favourite bras and some panties, but… sometimes stuff like that just gets misplaced - it’s not like you’re exactly the tidiest person around. 

Still, you can’t help the way that your brows furrow at her implication, “I said I _misplaced_ some things. Are you honestly suggesting that Lev broke into my apartment to steal that stuff?” you ask with a snicker. The very idea of the silver haired giant sneaking around your tiny apartment is ridiculous!

Your friend’s pointed silence speaks volumes. 

“Oh, come on! He’s just a friend - a little excitable maybe,” and _very_ affectionate, always swallowing you up in tight hugs, fingers constantly seeking out yours - but somehow you don’t think that part will help your case, “but he’s just a big softie.”

She scoffs, folding her arms over her chest. She doesn’t speak for a long moment, but when she does, she reaches across the table to grab your hand in hers, squeezing it lightly. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m being a jealous, judgemental bitch because I don’t like the idea of anyone else coming to steal you away from me,” she smiles self deprecatingly, but there’s an real edge of worry in her eyes that makes your stomach twist, “but you’re the most important thing to me. I don’t want you getting hurt, and I get bad vibes from that guy.” 

You open your mouth to retort, but she just shakes her head, “Just… just promise me you’ll be careful around him, alright?”

Wordlessly, you nod.

As much as you try and dismiss her concerns, as days pass you begin to wonder if maybe she isn’t wrong.

Not about Lev of course - he might be a little over exuberant but you know he doesn’t mean any harm by it - but you think, well… you’re _starting_ to think that maybe somebody’s following you.

At first it’s just the tickling sensation on the back of your neck. When you run to the corner store on your lunch break to pick up a snack for the afternoon a shiver runs down your spine as you get the strangest feeling that somebody’s staring at you - you can feel the weight of their gaze burning into your back, but whenever you turn there’s nobody there.

There’s _never_ anybody there.

But… didn’t you shut the door to your closet before you left for work that morning? You could have sworn that the window to your second storey bedroom was locked.

It comes to a head one night after work. You leave later than you normally would, having lost track of time trying to get some last minute emails off and by the time you actually get out the door it’s already dark outside and it’s pouring down with rain.

You’re halfway home when you get that prickling feeling on your skin, and your gut tightens uncomfortably. Tentatively you slow, shooting a furtive glance over your shoulder. The streets of the city are normally busy at this time of the night, but the rain’s driven people away - there’s not a soul in sight, including any wannabe stalkers.

The tight grip on your heart eases and you force yourself to relax. You’re imagining things now, you think with a shake of your head and a breathless laugh. 

Nobody’s out to get you, you’re fine.

Except the prickling sensation on the back of your neck doesn’t go away, and with every step you take the discomfort in your gut becomes harder and harder to ignore. Fingers flit anxiously at your side, your grip tightening on the handle of your umbrella. The rain’s loud as it crashes around you, but as you turn down the music coming from your headphones you swear that you can hear heavy footfalls behind you.

All it would take is another quick glance to confirm your suspicions. It could just be another person out in the rain trying to make their way home, same as you. It could be all your head, paranoia brought about by your friend’s worries. But fear has clawed its way up your spine - it’s late and you’re tired and scared, rational thought has left the building and you don’t _think_ about any of that before dropping your umbrella and taking off into a sprint.

You don’t look back.

You don’t stop until you’re back in the safety of your apartment with the door locked, blinds shut and the deadbolt in place.

You’re still trembling twenty minutes later when there’s a knock at your front door.

Your heart leaps into your throat at the sound, your entire body tensing, and for a single moment you debate not answering the door, but… you let out a sigh, shaking your head. You’re being ridiculous.

A quick glance through the peephole sets your heart at ease. Standing in the hallway dressed in a slightly damp black overcoat, his silvery-grey hair dusted with rain, is Lev. 

Relief floods through you as you quickly work at the locks, flicking open the deadbolt.

“Hey, Lev,” you murmur somewhat sheepishly, stepping back to let him come inside.

His green, catlike eyes light up at the sight of you, and he doesn’t waste a moment before leaning down and enveloping you in a tight hug - never mind his wet coat. You let yourself relax into the embrace - the comforting warmth as he wraps himself around you and strokes your back. “Y/N! I’m so glad you’re home! I know I’m kinda stopping by unannounced and all, but I was just on my way…” he trails off as he pulls back slightly, eyes narrowing as they flicker across your face.

“Are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he murmurs, his hands still entwined around your waist.

You smile tightly, biting down on your bottom lip. Should you tell him? There’s still some part of you that thinks maybe it’s all in your head, that you’re working yourself up for no good reason, but what if you’re not? What if there _is_ somebody who’s-

There’s an insistent tug at your waist and your eyes dart back up to find Lev’s frown deepening. “Something’s wrong, tell me.”

A blush finds its way to your cheeks as you carefully unwind yourself from his hold and make your way back further into your living room, “I- you’ll think I’m being stupid I guess, or paranoid, but…”

“But?” he prompts.

You take a deep breath, fingers twisting in front of you, “I think that somebody might be… following me?” you phrase it almost as a question, carefully watching his face for any sign that he might start laughing at you. But he doesn’t - Lev’s features are perfectly blank as he stares back at you, and you rush to fill the sudden heavy silence that falls between the two of you. “I know it sounds insane, but my friend got me worried the other day, and things have been going missing from my place and I’m almost positive that somebody followed me home tonight and-”

“Hey,” he says, quickly stepping forward to close the distance between you. He reaches for your hand with a soft smile and you let him take it, offering a shaking smile back when his thumb smooths over the back of your palm. “I believe you. You don’t need to be scared, I’m here for you.”

You nod, swallowing down your nerves once more. 

“Do you… do you want me to stay tonight? Or at least for a few hours, you just look so fragile and frightened, I hate the thought of leaving you like this.”

Lev’s eyes show nothing but earnest concern as he studies you with a pout, and this time when your lips curl into a smile it’s with genuine gratitude for your friend.

You should say no - it’s hardly fair for you to impose on him over something you’re not even sure is _real_ , but… “Actually, that sounds good, if you don’t have plans of course - I don’t want to spoil your night or anything,” you mutter with a blush.

Lev just shakes his head with a soft laugh, “Of course not. You’re my only concern tonight, angel.”

You try not to let the relief show on your face _too_ much. You’ll feel better knowing he’s there with you, and if nothing else you know he’ll take your mind off of things. It’s just what you need tonight - a friend. “Thank you,” you say warmly, dropping his hand so you can make your way back into the kitchen. “I was actually just about to start dinner, have you eaten yet? I was thinking pasta, but let me know if you feel like something else.”

He watches you for a moment as you open the fridge and bend over to rummage inside. “Pasta sounds great,” he calls back, shedding his damp jacket and making his way over to hang it off the coat rack by the front door.

Busy in the kitchen, you’re none the wiser to the soft click of locks turning, the deadbolt sliding back into place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it - kudos and comments are always appreciated!


	13. Collateral - Overhaul x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your uncle has a history of bad debts and bad decision making.

It’s a bit of a surprise the day that you get your ticket in the mail. You’ve never been particularly close with your uncle. It’s not that you don’t like him or anything, it’s just… you don’t really know him. He’s lived on the other side of the Pacific Ocean since long before you were born, and you’ve only met him face to face a handful of times. 

And now he wants you - _just you_ \- to come stay with him for a little while. _As long as you want, the return ticket’s flexible,_ the email says.

Your family’s just as flummoxed as you, he and your dad have never exactly been close - something about a big fallout when they were younger, but he’s the one to convince you to go. 

“Your uncle hasn’t exactly had the easiest life, sweetheart. He’s all alone over there, has been for a long, long time and he’s made a lot of bad decisions in the past but… you’re his only niece,” he sighs, cupping your cheek with a sad smile. “Maybe he wants a fresh start, to build a relationship with you - he’s missed so much of your life.”

It’s not so much his words that get to you, but the wistful look in his eyes as he says them. Your heart aches for him, for them both, and you find yourself nodding along.

A trip to Japan sounds nice. 

Getting to know your uncle sounds even nicer.

A week later, you’re on the plane flying over the Pacific, the nerves in your stomach growing with each mile that passes beneath you. 

It’ll be fine, you reason, smoothing the non-existent wrinkles from your skirt as the plane starts its descent into Tokyo. Things might be a little awkward at first, but your uncle wouldn’t have invited you if he didn’t want to make a genuine effort, and your parents were only a phone call away if anything went wrong. 

Not that anything would. He’s family - that means something.

“If it gets too much, you can always come home,” your dad had whispered as you bid him farewell at the gate. 

But when you get off the plane, grab your luggage and make your way out through the gate, there’s no sign of your uncle standing in the crowd. You frown, scanning the arrivals hall again - he called your parents yesterday to tell them he’d be picking you up from the airport.

A flutter of uneasiness teases at your gut, but you force yourself to keep the smile on your face as you continue to scour the throng of waiting friends and family. You did land a little ahead of schedule, and getting through customs had taken less time than you thought, maybe he was just running late, or trying to find a park. Your uncle had given you a phone number to call if anything went wrong but… you don’t want to come across as panicky. It’s only been a few minutes, after all.

You’re so focused on trying to find him that you almost miss the crisply dressed driver holding a sign with your name just by the sliding doors. He doesn’t say anything when you approach cautiously, eyes still darting around like you’re expecting to see your uncle behind him. He doesn’t look like what you expected - not that you were expecting a driver at all - but the clearly expensive black suit and blank stare as he regards you are a little… off putting, to say the least. From your understanding your uncle wasn’t exactly made of money, so why send a driver at all?

“Um, hi… I’m Y/N, did my uncle send you? I-is he not coming?” you say, praying that the man understands English and you’re not making an idiot out of yourself.

The driver nods sharply, “He was unable to collect you himself.”

Oh. 

Your smile falters just a touch, but you find yourself nodding out of politeness. It’s fine. You have all the time in the world to spend with your uncle. “Oh, alright. Um-”

The driver grabs the suitcase from your side before you can stop him, turning abruptly on his heel and walking away, leaving you to rush after him, cheeks dusting pink.

Except the driver doesn’t take you to the small apartment on the outskirts of the city your uncle had told you about. 

***

You’ve never been more terrified in your life. 

It’s been a week, you think - it’s hard to tell when the room they keep you in doesn’t have any windows and the food they deliver doesn’t come at regular intervals.

A week since the driver pulled you shaking from the back seat of the black and manhandled you inside a dark warehouse. A week since you met _him_.

You still don’t know his name. 

He’s the boss - you’ve figured that much out at least. He was the one whose feet you were tossed at when you arrived - shaking, crying and pleading.

You can still remember the chill that crept up your spine as those impassive gold eyes stared at you, his mouth hidden behind that ridiculous plague mask. Sitting on an old, worn leather couch, dressed in all black save for the grey tie around his neck and the white surgical gloves on his hands, what startled you the most (aside from the mask) was how young he was - he couldn’t have been more than a year or so older than you at the most, and yet every single person in the warehouse was staring at him with the utmost respect.

He’d ignored your tears and the trembling questions that had fallen from your lips as he’d stood and walked a slow circle around you, eyes running you up and down like a vulture eyeing off its prey. He hadn’t touched you, only gesturing once for his subordinates to wrestle you back up into a standing position before he finished his apparent appraisal. 

When he’d spoken it was an order barked coldly in Japanese, but his eyes had flickered back to you as hands had gripped your arms, and in the split second before you were tugged from the room, you could have sworn that there was the faintest hint of dark pleasure shining through.

He’s come to visit you a few times since. He always keeps his distance, sitting on the sole chair in your sterile room as you huddled up on the bed like a frightened kitten, putting as much space between the two of you as possible. 

He seems to enjoy that; your fear. 

It’s the second time he comes to visit that he starts to talk to you - not in English, no, despite you making it _abundantly_ clear you had absolutely no understanding of the language beyond a few conversational phrases, he only ever speaks Japanese.

He seems to enjoy that too - the blank, nervous look in your eyes whenever he starts to speak with you. His tone could be considered light and friendly, conversational almost, if not for the cruel edge to his words that transcends the language barrier - with every word he’s mocking you, and he wants you to know it.

The first time you leave your sterile room it’s when two of his masked entourage come to take you up into what looks like a surgical suite. There’s a man strapped to a gurney under a bright operating light sobbing, thrashing fruitlessly against his binds and immediately there’s a wave of dread that floods your stomach. The two men who took you hold you firmly in place by your shoulders, but you can’t help but jump a little when that familiar voice starts to speak.

He comes out of the shadows, golden eyes fixed solely on you. It’s a speech of some sort, though whether it’s for your benefit, his followers’ or the now screaming man’s before him you honestly don’t know. Sweat builds at your temple as the masked leader lifts his hands and slowly tugs off the white surgical gloves.

You don’t know what’s about to happen, only that you desperately want to stop it. One of the men behind you chuckles and you bite your lip to stifle a cry - there’s no point, you can’t move, you can’t escape this - whatever it is that’s about to happen.

The screams reach fever pitch, the man thrashing hard enough to make the gurney shake, but it doesn’t seem to make a difference. Your heart skips a beat as the auburn haired leader stares dispassionately down at him and with a sigh - places his bare palm against his flesh.

The result is instantaneous. 

The scream cuts off. Blood splatters over the walls, over _you_ , as the man is simply, brutally, torn apart by the Quirk.

And all the while, the monster simply watches you.

You understand him perfectly this time. It’s a demonstration, a reminder of why one so young sits at the head of an illicit organisation and what exactly the punishment might be should you fail to remember that.

They take you for a shower afterwards, and you’ve never been more grateful for it. You scrub at your skin until it’s raw, desperately trying to wash the taint of blood from your skin. It doesn’t seem to make a difference, it stays with you every time you close your eyes.

You cry yourself to sleep that night, clutching tightly at the thin, blanket you’d been given and thinking desperately of home and your family.

He’s sitting in the same plastic chair when you wake up, except this time it’s been pulled up right beside the bed. He regards you silently for a moment, watching as your eyes widen and fear slowly creeps across your features, but you don’t flinch, you don’t try and scamper away. You only pull the blanket up slightly, as if to protect what last vestiges of modesty you have from him.

“Do you know why you’re here?” he asks in flawless English.

You jerk back in surprise. He-

What?!

Of course he speaks English. Of course his continued insistence on speaking a language you didn’t understand was nothing more than a ploy to make you feel vulnerable and inferior. 

Utterly isolated.

A spark of anger flashes through you, but you quickly tamp it down, the memory of blood and disassembled body parts all too fresh in your mind.

He seems to be waiting for an answer to his question, so you give a minute nod. You’ve been here long enough to put the puzzle pieces together.

“Your uncle managed to rack up quite the impressive debt from us - a debt he couldn’t pay when it came due. He offered us you, his niece, instead. A pretty, young American girl, Quirkless… _pure_ ,” he sighs.

Each word hits you like a slap in the face and you can feel the unshed tears stinging in the corners of your eyes. It’s nothing you haven’t already figured out, but to be confronted with the truth, that your own flesh and blood (however estranged) had sold you out to save his skin, hurts more than you care to admit. 

Oblivious to your internal suffering, or maybe just indifferent to it, your captor continues. “I had planned on selling you. You’d be surprised what some of the degenerate filth in this city would be willing to pay for some beautiful, defenceless, foreign doll for them to stick their cocks into.”

Something close to amusement flickers in his eyes and he laughs as your face blanches in mute horror. He leans forward, gloved hands reaching for your face and you freeze with a choked gasp-

But he merely brushes at your cheek with the back of his knuckles, collecting a single stray tear that had slipped from your eyes without you even realising. “You don’t need to look so worried, Y/N. I thought you would have realised by now - you’re not going anywhere, you’re _mine_ , and I’ve figured out a much better use for you.” It’s hard to tell with the gaudy mask obscuring half his face, but you could swear that beneath it all, your captor’s _grinning_. “My pretty little pet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys enjoyed, let me know if you did with some kudos or comments (they always brighten my day!) :)


	14. Warmth - Dabi x Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freedom isn't all it's cracked up to be

It’s been raining for a while, the droplets falling like sleet in the howling wind, soaking you to your skin.

You haven’t moved.

Sitting on the cold pavement, arms wrapped loosely around your knees, you try again. You take a deep breath, open up your palm and bite your lip…

White petals bloom, a daisy unfurling in your trembling hand-

And wilts, just as quickly.

You don’t have the energy left to cry as you slowly let the rotting flower fall to the asphalt. It joins the countless others littering the ground around you, dead before they ever really grew.

They used to bloom in the cracks of the pavement as you walked by.

Is this what a year without using your Quirk does? Or is it just… is it just you that’s broken?

A siren wails somewhere in the distance, but you pay it no mind. The city’s a dangerous place - you know that better than most, but tonight it doesn’t bother you. In the midst of a storm, tucked away down an alley with a broken streetlight you’re all but invisible to those not looking.

And nobody’s looking. You’re nothing but a shadow here.

Another gust of wind blows past and you shiver, pulling the thick, black hoodie tighter around yourself - for all the good that it does. Even the rain hasn’t washed away its lingering scent of smoke, whiskey and menthol. It wraps around you like a vice squeezing you tight, but it’s familiar in its own way. He’d only been wearing it the night before, his arm slung over your shoulders as the two of you spent the night drinking at the bar. Well, he drank - you nursed yours all night long, only taking tiny sips whenever those cerulean eyes flickered pointedly over. He knows you don’t like to drink, especially around them, but he seems to find it mildly amusing to drag you with him when they go out regardless.

You’d grabbed it without a second thought as you’d sprinted out of the bedroom. You could hardly go running down the street in pretty lace panties and an oversized wife beater.

The warmth of the afternoon sun, the soft breeze that tickled at your skin as you ran, it’d felt like heaven. Freedom. Even as fear and paranoia chewed at your guts and pushed you forwards it was… exhilarating. You wanted to laugh almost as much as you wanted to cry - from happiness or grief or an overwhelming, indecipherable mix of both, you honestly couldn’t say.

How quickly that joy turned to ash.

_“Oh no, honey. They moved out - when was it, dear… maybe six months back?” the elderly woman turned to her husband, who nodded sagely._

_“Yep, ‘bout then. It’s such a shame, I hear somethin’ awful happened to their daughter. Killed in a Villain attack if I remember rightly?” he mused. “I think it must have been too painful to stay, but I suppose…”_

The rest of his words had faded into white noise.

Dead.

He’d never said a word about your family, but you’d always thought… some part of you hoped that they were out there searching for you, waiting for you to come home. And even when he stuck that Quirk cancelling cuff around your ankle, when his lips burned against yours as he moved inside of you, you held onto that hope so _tight_.

But the home you’d dreamed of is gone.

Your life is… gone.

And what’s left of those pretty daydreams? You’re nothing but a ghost. No money, no possessions, no clothes but the ones and your back and even those aren’t really yours at all. You have _nothing_.

Even your Quirk, the pretty parlour trick that it was, has abandoned you.

So why bother moving? The rain is icy as it lashes at your skin and there’s a gnawing ache in your stomach - you haven’t eaten since last night.

You have nothing left.

More dead petals fall and you hug yourself tighter, sniffling under the downpour. Where were you supposed to go?

Did Dabi know that the rest of the world had moved on without you? He’d never brought up your family or your friends, not even to threaten them when you acted out. It was as if the moment he’d stolen you away, they ceased to exist. You were his now, and that was all that should have mattered to you. He wasn’t wrong, you suppose. Everyone likes to believe that they’re special, irreplaceable but… they’re not. _You’re_ not.

Except, maybe, to him.

_“Mine,” he growls, one hand wrapped around your throat, the other entwined with yours as he fucks you into the worn down mattress. “My girl, my fucking- hah - my fuckin’ babydoll.” He steals another kiss, always too rough, too much teeth and tongue, but the heating broke last week and Dabi is so, so warm._

_He’s softer, later. One arm slung over your waist, your bare back flush to his chest. There’s a brand on your hip, and his fingers trace it idly. “We’re leavin’ this shithole soon,” he murmurs after a while. “Heroes sticking their noses where they don’t belong and all that crap, gotta lay low for a little while. Means I’m gonna be home a little more than usual, but… ” he breaks off, and you can feel his lips curl into a smirk as they brush along your neck, “you don’t mind that, do you, babe?”_

We. Always we. From the moment he’d stolen you - saved you, in a twisted turn of events you preferred not to linger on - there was never a doubt in his mind that your future was his. Whether it was with the League or going at it alone, your place would always be with him.

He stole you. Kept you chained to his bed, fucked you until you were a babbling mess and burned his name into your skin. He hurt you when you acted up and sometimes just because he liked the way you looked, all scared and trembling in his arms. He teased you mercilessly and forced his love onto you at any and every opportunity, but-

_“You know I’m never gonna let you go, right?”_

_He’s said it enough times that you don’t stiffen anymore, but you roll over regardless to meet those burning blue eyes. “Why?” you whisper._

_Dabi’s silent for a little while, staring at you. You’ve been with him for months now, and not a day has gone past that you haven’t wondered, but never once have you asked him._

_Afraid of the answer, maybe._

_You still don’t know what possessed him to step in that day, whether that was truly the start of this obsessive mess, or merely the tipping point._

_Eventually he shrugs, “‘cause you need me,” he says, like it’s a simple fact - an undeniable truth of the universe, “and I fuckin’ need you.”_

You should hate him, and maybe a part of you does, but when the air around you crackles and blue flames flicker to life a few feet away, it’s not fear that races through your heart.

Dabi’s soaking wet, his normally wild black hair plastered to his skin, his ragged tee translucent and hugging the toned muscles of his abdomen - even his flames sizzle ominously under the deluge, but if the downpour bothers him, he doesn’t show it.

His cerulean eyes are fixed firmly on you - huddled in the corner, pale and trembling, illuminated only by the soft glow of his Quirk - and the grin on his face is almost manic.

“Time to come home now, doll, don’tcha think?”

It’s almost definitely a threat. You know him well enough by now to recognise the rage that blazes under that too wide smile.

You could try and run. See how far you make it before those pretty blue flames reach you. You might even be lucky - if you’re quick enough, maybe you could lose him in the dark warrens of the city’s underbelly.

But as you rise to your feet, soaked to your skin, teeth chattering and shaking like drowned rat, you don’t.

It’s a cold night, and Dabi is so, _so_ warm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys liked it!!! Kudos and comments always make my day! :)
> 
> Also, feel free to stop by my tumblr @yanderexbabydoll and say hi (or shoot me a request??)


	15. The Road to Hell - Aizawa x Fem Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He only ever wanted to keep you safe.

He’s crossed so many lines when it comes to you.

It… didn’t start out that way. Aizawa might be many things, but he’s not some kind of perverse degenerate who gets his rocks off preying on pretty girls. He was a Hero - still is, though he thought of it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth these days. He only ever wanted to keep you safe, but he knows all too well about the road to hell and good intentions.

You were drunk, abandoned by your friend in a bad part of town. 

Watching from the rooftops to make sure you got home safe - that was his goddamn job. Any other Pro worth his salt would have done the same.

And if you were anybody else, kitten, that might just have been the end of it.

But it wasn’t. 

Maybe you liked the thrill of it or maybe you were just adorably (foolishly) naive, but it didn’t stop him from having a fucking heart attack when he’d catch sight of you leaving work late at night to walk home _alone_. Did you have any idea the danger you wilfully continued to put yourself in night after night? For that matter, did your friends? Your co-workers?

Nothing ever happened because _he_ was there to stop it. He suspects you don’t know about the handful of times he almost got there too late, and if he has his way, you never will. The world’s a cruel place, especially for innocent things like you, but you don’t need to be scared. He doesn’t want you to be terrified - not when you have him to shield you from all of that.

It became routine to trail you at night, whether you went straight home or out to eat or catch up with friends. He could justify it if he wanted to, but even back then he never really felt the urge. It gave him… comfort, to know that wherever you were, you were safe because he was watching over you, and that was enough.

Once you made it home - once he was _satisfied_ that you weren’t going back out - he could return to his patrol, no harm done.

But damn it all if you didn’t have a way of getting under his skin. You’re like a drug, kitten, the more he took, the more he wanted and you were constantly - _constantly_ \- on his mind. What used to soothe those primal urges now left him… unsatisfied. It wasn’t enough just to watch from afar.

He needed more. Always _more_.

So another line was crossed.

What was an extra few minutes spent watching through the gap in your curtains? Your taste in tv shows might’ve been atrocious, but the sound of your laugh eases the tension right from his shoulders.

And he loves his job, he might grumble and groan, but he’s not the kind of man to dedicate himself to anything unless he truly believes in its worth, but he’d be lying if he said that it didn’t drive him up the damn wall to be stuck there all day while you… 

It was like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Watching those seconds drag by until the final bell rung, until he could see you again, was nothing short of torture. It was starting to affect his work - fuck, even _Mic_ had noticed his how irritable he’d become. 

He just needed something - anything - to take his mind off of it, to temporarily pacify the beast inside of him that craved your presence so _desperately_ until he saw you again.

A picture maybe?

Something more personal perhaps - a piece of jewellery? 

Another line crossed. 

The lock on your bedroom window really was far too easy to pick. Did you think just because you lived on the third floor you’d be safe from petty thieves and common criminals? It might have worked in his favour, but really, kitten, your naivety was concerning to say the least.

It should have bothered him more than it did - his first foray into what was undeniably a crime - but with his stolen piece of _you_ , Shouta slept easy that night.

(He’d picked a scarf - the one you’d been wearing the night before. The delicate, floral notes of your perfume still clung to the fabric - he’d never smelled anything better.)

It was a tipping point, he supposes. Curiosity drives him to keep coming back, well, that and simple greed. He’s spent months watching from a distance and it wasn’t enough anymore.

Each visit sharpened the image of you he has in his head. He knew the type of body wash you like, the music you listened to, the books you’ve read and reread until they’re almost falling apart. He knew all about your secret snack drawer and he had the absolute pleasure of finding the journals you’d kept from your teenage years - full of childish drama, unrequited romance and angst, it was endearing, really.

He was always careful. 

But fuck, kitten, you have a way of messing with his head. 

Maybe it was the oppressive summer heat, maybe the day had been too long, his students grating on his last nerve - maybe it was the hug he’d seen your coworker bestow before you left for the night, the one that lingered just a few seconds too long for his tastes. But as he stares at your bedroom window, long after you’ve turned the light off and gone to bed, there’s a thrumming in his heart, an urge that won’t go away.

The first time he broke inside your apartment might have been the tipping point in his fall from grace, but the moment he slides in through your window and catches sight of you asleep in bed, that was the point of no return.

His breath catches, saliva drying in his mouth as his traitorous heart skips a beat. 

Lit up only by the pale glow of moonlight, you’re spread across the sheets, fast asleep and bare as the day you were born.

It feels like a lifetime that he stands there, wide eyed, frozen in place as he watches the bewitching rise and fall of your chest. He’s imagined what you’d look like, of course he has - he’s only a man after all, and you’re so, so beautiful but this-

Fuck, kitten. You’re temptation, a divine offering ripe for the taking. Supple skin and smooth thighs, the gentle curve of your breast that makes him _salivate_. Blood rushes to his cock, heating his cheeks and he wants more than he’s ever wanted. A thin sheet is all that covers your cunt from his sight, and he wants to tear it away, to crawl between those lovely fucking thighs of yours and find out for himself if you taste as sweet as you smell. He wants to run his fingers over your skin, to cover you in bruising kisses and bite marks so the world knows who you belong to.

He wants to kiss you until those lips redden, he wants to slide his cock between them and let you suck him off while he strokes your hair and tells you what a good little kitty you’re being.

He wants, more than anything he’s ever wanted, for you to get on your hands and knees, show him that pretty ass of yours and let him fuck you until you’re sobbing his name.

Aizawa is a man of patience. Logic. 

But at the sight of you, the object of his affections, his love laid bare before him, all that goes right out the damn window.

In that moment, he is simply a man overcome.


	16. The After Party - Semi x Fem Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're Semi's biggest fan, but it's been a while since you've been able to make it to one of his shows.
> 
> He's kinda pissed about it.

There’s a hiss at your ear, a muted " _Fuck_ ," drawn out moments before teeth find purchase at the juncture of your neck. You shriek, whimpering against the palm that’s clamped down tightly around your mouth, but his hold is unrelenting.

Shoved up against the dressing room vanity, his other hand curled possessively around your hip, you can’t escape him. 

The pain in your shoulder is almost a welcome distraction. It’s easier to focus on the sharp, burning sting as his teeth dig in - not enough to break the skin, but enough that you know that the mark it’ll leave behind won't fade for days - than it is to think about the thick cock dragging through your slick, wet heat. 

He fucks you slowly, deeply, drawing his hips back so you can feel every inch of him before slamming them forward, like he’s trying to mold your insides into the shape of his cock. And with every thrust you see stars because _it hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts-_

But there’s something else, a flicker of pleasure you _hate_ yourself for that has you tightening around him, mewling like a whore, and from the rabid grin split across his face, Semi knows it.

“Look,” he growls, as if you have any other choice. 

The grimy mirror in front of you, lit by the bright light bulbs framing the edges, shows everything. Your wide eyed, tear stained face - eyeliner smudged, mascara running down your cheeks. Behind you, Semi looms, shirtless and grinning through clenched teeth. His chest, toned and lean, glistening with the faint sheen of sweat from the show. 

You’re stuck on your tiptoes, clutching desperately for purchase at the wooden edge of the counter that digs painfully into your thighs as he rails into you, but Semi doesn’t seem all that concerned with your discomfort.

No, judging from the glittering twinkle in those dark eyes of his, you’d say he’s very much enjoying it. 

He delivers a particularly vicious thrust that has you squealing and shifts his grip, slipping his hand from your hip to curl sound your waist, hauling your torso up flush against his chest. “Look how well you’re taking me, baby. Such a good little fucking whore for me, aren’t you?”

You still don’t understand what you did wrong.

He was all smiles when he came up to you after the show and asked if you wanted to come backstage for a drink with him. And it wasn’t like you didn’t know what he really wanted, but you’d you’d blushed and taken his hand anyway.

Because you were a fan, had been since the very early days - though lately it’s been difficult to find the time to make it to his gigs. Because Semi was ridiculously hot. And maybe because it felt like everything in your had fallen apart last month and steamy, meaningless sex with a guy who probably wouldn’t even remember your name at the end of it sounded like the perfect little pick me up.

You don’t know what you said that set him off.

One moment things were fine, Semi’s bandmates had left to finish packing things up and the two of you were settled onto the old worn down couch talking, though the hand slowly drifting up your thigh had made it somewhat difficult to focus on the words coming out of his mouth.

And then something had shifted in the air between you - a tension you hadn’t noticed until it was too late. You’d made some stupid joke and he hadn’t laughed, and when you’d glanced up from your drink the smile on his face seemed different from before, too sharp, his glint in eyes too cold.

It’d made your stomach clench, a faint trickle of unease running down your spine. And maybe you should have noticed it earlier, and later, you’ll blame the drinks you’d had during the show, the one he poured you when you sat down. You were down for a fun hookup but girls learn young to trust their gut. No amount of crazy good sex was worth getting yourself hurt for.

You were going to try and play it polite. Tell him that you weren’t feeling well and try and get out of there quickly with as much dignity as you could manage.

But Semi had taken a long sip of whiskey, eyeing you over the rim of his glass, and huffed out a mocking laugh. The fingers on your thigh had tightened their grip, blunt fingernails digging into your bare skin. 

“Aren’t you gonna apologise for leaving me high and dry, baby? I missed you, you know.”

Your stomach lurched, icy fear had clawing its way through your heart at the unexpected words, spilling through your veins. For one _single_ heartbeat you’d been struck still, Semi’s predatory smirk pinning you in place. 

And then the adrenaline kicked in.

There were six steps between the couch and the dressing room door. 

You’d only made it to three.

A pained shriek tears its way free from your throat as his swollen cock head rams against your cervix and Semi _snarls_ , roughly palming at your tits.

“Shut up, you fucking love the feeling of my cock tearing you apart, don’t you? You love being my filthy little groupie cocksleeve.”

A fresh wave of tears spills down your cheeks, but even with his hand still clamped over your mouth you manage the tiniest shake of your head. It’s a pathetic show of resistance, but with his hips trapping you against the counter, his arms wrapped around you like a vice, it’s the only rebellion you can manage. You watch as his eyes narrow and _flash_ in the mirror, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

“No?” he hisses, his warm breath fanning across the shell of your ear, “Then tell me why your perfect cunt keeps sucking me in so _fucking_ deep. Are you close, baby? You wanna cum on my cock?”

You try and shake your head again but Semi just laughs.

“Liar,” he purrs.

The wet squelches that accompany his every thrust attest to that, and your cheeks burn with the humiliation of it. You’re helpless to do anything but watch as he kisses at your neck again, sucking another wine coloured bruise into your skin, and all the while those dark eyes are fixed on your reflection.

His hips snap against your ass, finally picking up the pace. 

It’s a sickening jumble of pleasure and pain that surges through you with every brutal, unrelenting thrust. Your nerve endings are on fire, warmth coiling in your gut as your pussy throbs - everything hurts and it’s all too much, but he doesn’t stop, not for a single fucking second. It feels like you can’t breathe, like your heart’s about to break free from your chest with the speed that it’s racing and you’re dizzy and crying and he moans, licking the sweat from your skin and grinning as you fall to pieces under his touch. 

It’s too much, and you hate it.

It’s too much, and you’re on the very _edge_.

You can tell that Semi’s close too, his rhythm faltering in favour of chasing his own end. He growls filth in your ear, whispered words that are lost to you as he pounds at your insides and you moan and whimper against his palm. 

His cock once more slams against that spot deep inside of you, and that’s all it takes. 

You hurtle over the precipice with a soundless shriek, tightening around his throbbing length, a shuddering, mewling mess as your orgasm rips through you. And Semi follows, fucking rabidly into your convulsing cunt with a snarled curse as he paints your walls white with his seed.

Yet as the blinding stars in your vision start to fade and you come crashing back down from the dizzying rush, you realise with a flicker of unease (never mind disgust) that he hasn’t moved. Semi’s softening cock is still deep inside of you, his arms still caging you against his sweaty body.

He’s watching you intently through the mirror, pupils blown wide, chest heaving with every panting breath, drinking in your utterly wrecked state with an unreadable expression.

Slowly, he grins. 

“Ready for round two?”


	17. Jump the Gun - Bokuto x fem reader x Akaashi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Akaashi distinctly remembers telling Bokuto they needed to wait.

The sight that greets Akaashi when he walks through the front door is not the one he’s expecting.

Bokuto’s sprawled across the couch - that in itself isn’t all that surprising - but the figure that’s curled up beside him, head resting in his lap _is._

Because you _definitely_ shouldn’t be there - unconscious or otherwise. In fact, he specifically remembers having a conversation with Bo about how you being here _wasn’t_ a good idea, at least until they had everything sorted out. 

Judging from the sheepish expression on Bokuto’s face as Akaashi quietly closes the door and takes off his shoes, a conversation that he hasn’t forgotten, but rather elected to ignore. He sighs. You look peaceful, as if you’re only asleep, dreaming of nice things, but Akaashi knows better than that. He doesn’t say a word as he crosses the apartment and drops into a crouch in front of the two of you. Long, pale fingers reach for you, knocking Bokuto’s hand away to brush back your hair, gunmetal blue eyes flickering intently over your face, your neck, searching for-

“I didn’t hurt her,” he huffs petulantly.

… No, he wouldn’t. Akaashi _knows_ that. Bokuto is many things, impulsive being the first to come to mind, but he wouldn’t hurt you, at least… not like that. Still, a single brow raises as he shifts his gaze from your face to Bo’s. He can’t quite bring himself to stop touching you though - so he doesn’t, letting his fingers slowly trail from your temple down along the curve of your jaw, marvelling a little at how well his hand seems to fit there. 

“I thought we talked about this,” he says simply. His voice is even, calm - despite being tinged with the faintest hint of exasperation, but he’s thankful it doesn’t betray the way his heart is racing. From the feeling of having you so close, touching you like he’s wanted to for _months_ , or the uneasy trepidation that’s gnawing at his guts - he honestly couldn’t say. “Why would you- we don’t even have a room set up, Bokuto.” 

Something a little like guilt tugs at his chest when Bokuto pouts again. “She was gonna leave, ‘Kaashi. Move out next week with that asshole friend of hers!”

The corner of Akaashi’s lips twitch downwards. He doesn’t need any reminders about which _friend_ he’s referring to. They’ve only met him once, but each second spent watching him simultaneously talk down to you while pawing at you like an overeager puppy left an increasingly bitter taste in his mouth. That guy wants to be ‘friends’ with you about as much as he wants to take one of Bokuto’s spikes to the face. Of course, the fact that you’re so blissfully unaware of it doesn’t exactly help matters.

“… We’d lose her,” Bo continues, and there’s more than a nugget of truth in that. 

Akaashi lets out a low hum, his thumb brushing absentmindedly against the soft skin of your cheek. If you left… it wouldn’t change things - not for them - but… it would make them _difficult_. They’re so used to the casual, easy chats in the hallways, dropping by to borrow milk or ask if you were hungry because the pizza place ‘fucked up’ and delivered an extra (Akaashi knows you like Hawaiian, and tries not to judge you too harshly for it).

He might be inexorably in love with you, but he’s not delusional. 

You’re neighbours. 

The few minutes a day he and Bo get to steal your attention - it’s only because you live in the apartment next door. Well, that, and you’re far too polite and trusting for your own good. But as much as he’d like to believe there’s something deeper to it than that, that you feel even a _sliver_ of the attraction they hold for you in return, he knows that you don’t. 

(Not yet.)

And it’s one thing to try and insert themselves into your life as your friendly next door neighbours, but without that connection between you, they’re little more than acquaintances at best. You might smile and wave if you passed them in the street, but if they tried to show up at your new place or offered to take you out for coffee, even you might start to get a bit suspicious.

Of course, it didn’t excuse Bokuto from jumping the gun - they could have at least _talked_ about it first, but-

A wide grin slowly creeps across Bo’s face, excitement dancing in the golden hues of his eyes as his arm slips from the back of the couch to curl possessively over your waist. “I had to bring her home.”

The tension in his shoulders shifts at that, a weight lifting subconsciously. Bokuto’s boundless enthusiasm has always been infectious, and Akaashi can’t find it within himself to fight the small smile that curls at his lips. 

You just look so beautiful, lying in his lap. Content almost, though he appreciates that’s probably more to do with whatever drugs you’ve been dosed with than anything else. 

But this is what he wants. What they’ve _both_ wanted for a long time. 

You were always going to come home to them, it might not be perfect and they might have to figure some things out quicker than he’d like but-

You’re home with them, where you belong. He can’t be mad at that.

He leans close, eyes fluttering shut as he brushes his lips against your softly parted ones - just for a second, just for a _taste_ \- and when he pulls away it’s with a low, appreciative groan. 

“We’ll make it work,” he says, meeting Bokuto’s eager gaze once more.


	18. Little Bird - Aizawa x Fem Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An open window shouldn't bother you as much as it does.

It shouldn’t bother you as much as it does.

There’s no reason that the sight of an open window should make you feel _anything_ , much less the quiet unease that’s been slowly gnawing at you since morning.

It’s a warm day, the lingering summer heat more oppressive than usual, yet instead of turning on the AC as he usually does, Shouta chose instead to crack the window. A small, thoughtless gesture. You hadn’t even noticed until halfway through the late breakfast he’d painstakingly prepared for you, you’d felt the cool breeze tickle your skin, gently ruffling your feathered wings.

It was nice. A soothing balm against the building heat of the day. Your eyes had fallen shut, a soft, sleepy smile crossing your face, and for one perfect moment, you’d let yourself enjoy it.

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt it, the breath of fresh air kissing at your feathers.

Because you didn’t fly anymore.

He didn’t want you needlessly risking yourself like that.

Because the windows were _always_ shut.

Locked.

Because it was safer that way. Just like the padlocked front door with all of its chains - all the extra precautions were solely for the sake of your protection.

You knew this. You understood it.

So why did the sight of an open window make your heart seize, your breath stutter?

You hadn’t even heard him come up behind you, so caught up in the rush of… what exactly? Emotions? Your thoughts? The slow unease creeping up your spine?

“Everything okay, sweetheart?” he’s asked, jerking you bodily back to the present.

Swallowing harshly, you’d forced a smile onto your lips, shaking your head as you tried to remember how to speak. “I-it’s just hot,” you’d managed to stutter.

He’d hummed in quiet agreement, draping his arms over your shoulders to press an indulgent kiss to the crown of your head.

You’d relaxed into the comfort of his embrace, and that should have been the end of it - but it wasn’t.

Being one of his rare days completely off, Shouta’s determined to do as little as possible, which usually means spending the day curled up on the couch together - Shou reading, fingers gliding absentmindedly through the downy soft feathers of your wings. You’d come to love days like that, when he didn’t have to leave. He’d always make you feel so safe, so adored in his arms. Even the lazy kisses that almost always led to lazy lovemaking - the two of you entwined on the cushions, his hips leisurely grinding into yours as he peppers your skin with ardent affection - they’re something you’ve learned to crave.

Nobody else can treat you as well as he can. Nobody else can love you like he does, and he loves you so much.

You’re his angel, his treasure, his soulmate - the one thing on this earth that he can’t live without.

He adores you, takes care of you… letting him hold you close and shower you in that devotion should have been as easy as breathing.

Except today, no matter how hard you try, you just can’t settle. You tell him it’s the heat that’s making you restless, and it’s technically not a lie, but it’s far from the whole truth.

You can’t stop looking at the open window. It’s only cracked an inch or so, but that doesn’t really make much of a difference when it shouldn’t be open at all.

It’s locked for your safety, he’s told you a thousand times. The city below is teeming with a seedy underbelly of violence and corruption, and being the wife of a Pro Hero paints a lovely target on your back.

_“Do you know how many of them would jump at the chance to take you from me? To hurt you as a means to get to me? Do you have any idea the awful kinds of things they would do to something so pure… so defenceless…”_

You understand that, you know why you can’t leave the apartment - why the windows are locked and the front door’s always chained, even when Shouta’s home with you. He’s doing it out of love - to protect you.

But if that’s the case, then why is the window open now?

There’s a niggling feeling in the pit of your stomach that you just can’t ignore. It’s making it difficult to focus, to settle down and lose yourself in the books he’s brought you, or the TV that’s playing quietly in the background - some TV sitcom from the 90’s.

(Your wings ruffle and twitch restlessly, flaring with every gust of wind that breezes through that torturously tiny gap, and in amongst the discomfort, you feel an ache long since buried kindle.)

You could just ask him - surely there has to be a reason he’s chosen the window over the air conditioning to abate the summer heat, but every time you open your mouth, the words get stuck in your throat.

You don’t know why it’s bothering you so much. Shouta wouldn’t deliberately put you at risk, so him opening the window (the one that’s always shut, always locked) shouldn’t raise any red flags. It shouldn’t make you feel uncomfortable. It shouldn’t even register as an issue!

But the unease in your gut won’t let up. You can’t stop your eyes from darting across the room to stare, like you’re frightened that if he catches you looking, he’ll get mad, or he’ll close the window and that lovely, fresh breeze that feels so nice tickling at your wings will be gone, and you won’t get it back.

Which doesn’t make sense, because it’s just a stupid window!

I-it’s just an open window.

Except you know that it’s not, and the revelation tears at every inch of your sanity.

He calls you his angel, a nod, you suspect, to your pretty white wings, but you’re nothing more than a caged little bird, trapped and locked away for his enjoyment.

It doesn’t bother you that the window is open because it’s not safe, it bothers you because after however many months stuck as his beloved little captive - you’ve managed to rationalise everything. To accept it.

You tricked yourself into believing that you loved him back.

And the open window shatters that fragile illusion, because if you really loved him, if you really, truly wanted to be here with Shouta, an open window on a hot summer's day would be little more than an afterthought, not a bitter reminder of all that’s been taken from you.

The vitriolic disgust and shame that floods your veins threatens to overwhelm you entirely, send you crashing to your knees as a sob tears through your throat.

You let this happen. You let him twist and mold you into his perfect angel, his adoring wife.

He stole you, drugged you, tied you to his bed and raped you, and managed to convince you that that was love… _and you let him._

But you can’t buckle. You can’t afford to make a single sound, because just across the room, your captor is curled up on the loveseat, napping in the afternoon warmth and you might not get another chance like this one.

Your eyes dart to the window once more, and you swallow down the lump in your throat.

There’ll be plenty of time to wallow in self pity and loathing later.

It’s only opened a few inches, but you know that it slides all the way across. You know because you tried to escape that way once before, in the first few days of your captivity.

There’s a reason all the windows in the apartment are locked, and it’s not to keep the Villains out.

This time you’re silent as you pad barefoot across the floor.

Your wings spring open, stretching wide and ruffling in preparation as your eyes flicker back over to Shouta.

Still fast asleep.

A tiny breath of relief leaves your lips. As quietly as you can manage your fingers find the edge of the window pane and slowly, you ease it further open - far enough that you can clamber up onto the thin wooden sill.

Perched on the balls of your feet, braced against either side of the window pane, your wings tucked tight against your body to fit through the narrow gap, your heart stutters in your chest.

And maybe it’s a testament to how broken you really are, because as you take a deep steadying breath, closing your eyes to prepare for the leap - you feel it - an insistent little tug in your gut, a flicker of guilt that trickles down your spine.

You hesitate, just for a fraction of a second.

But it’s enough.

A pair of iron arms encircle your waist as you're yanked back, kicking and screaming through the window and into a hard chest.

“Going somewhere, _angel_?”


End file.
